Девід Копперфільд

I Begin Life on My Own Account, and Don’t Like it

           Solditwas,however,andcarriedawayinavan;exceptthebed,afewchairs,andthekitchentable.Withthesepossessionsweencamped,asitwere,inthetwoparloursoftheemptiedhouseinWindsorTerrace;Mrs.Micawber,thechildren,theOrfling,andmyself;andlivedinthoseroomsnightandday.Ihavenoideaforhowlong,thoughitseemstomeforalongtime.AtlastMrs.Micawberresolvedtomoveintotheprison,whereMr.Micawberhadnowsecuredaroomtohimself.SoItookthekeyofthehousetothelandlord,whowasverygladtogetit;andthebedsweresentovertotheKing’sBench,exceptmine,forwhichalittleroomwashiredoutsidethewallsintheneighbourhoodofthatInstitution,verymuchtomysatisfaction,sincetheMicawbersandIhadbecometoousedtooneanother,inourtroubles,topart.TheOrflingwaslikewiseaccommodatedwithaninexpensivelodginginthesameneighbourhood.Minewasaquietback-garretwithaslopingroof,commandingapleasantprospectofatimberyard;andwhenItookpossessionofit,withthereflectionthatMr.Micawber’stroubleshadcometoacrisisatlast,Ithoughtitquiteaparadise.

           AllthistimeIwasworkingatMurdstoneandGrinby’sinthesamecommonway,andwiththesamecommoncompanions,andwiththesamesenseofunmeriteddegradationasatfirst.ButInever,happilyformenodoubt,madeasingleacquaintance,orspoketoanyofthemanyboyswhomIsawdailyingoingtothewarehouse,incomingfromit,andinprowlingaboutthestreetsatmeal-times.

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